The Afternoon at Coney Island
by LizzieCharley
Summary: Steve and Bucky take a trip to Coney Island in the 1930s. Bucky realises something.


**Back and on a post-exams high! I love these boys although this oneshot turned out a little darker than I expected. Still ...**

It was 20th August 1934 when James Buchanan Barnes, known by all as Bucky, realised that he was hopelessly in love with his best friend.

It had been one of those summers; hot, stifling in fact, meaning that Steve, the object of his affections, had spent most of the season in some state of illness. First is had been his asthma, then hay fever (although Bucky still has absolutely no idea how Steve has managed to get hay fever in the middle of Brooklyn), then a summer flu rapidly followed by a heart scare and a nasty stomach bug. It was a miracle Steve was still with him; the last rites had been administered not once, but three times, and both Steve's and Bucky's own mas had repeatedly told him to prepare for the worst. They'd purposefully ignore the desperation in his eyes, and the way he'd refused to move from outside the Rogers' apartment until he'd been firmly told by a doctor that the worst was over a couple of days ago.

Despite all that, Stevie, the little punk, had somehow managed to defy all expectation to remain alive and as functional as was usual. And for that Bucky was counting his lucky stars.

To celebrate Steve surviving so far, they'd (well mostly Bucky as he actually had a job) saved for the last month (again optimistically, after being repeatedly told that even if Bucky survived these illnesses he wouldn't live for much longer) for a trip to Coney Island.

On the day in question, Bucky, wearing only a shirt and trousers in a hopeless attempt to stay cool. headed over to the apartment Steve shared with his ma late in the afternoon to ensure that it was at least slightly cooler so that Steve's lungs had the best chance possible. An asthma attack would be an awful, and potentially life threatening, end to a good trip.

As always, it only took him a couple of minutes to walk from the apartment he shared with his family to the Rogers'. Sarah and Steve Rogers lived on the fourth floor of the building (impractical, in Bucky's regularly expressed opinion, as Steve usually had to take a break to catch his breath on the second floor. Mrs Ellis had taken to leaving a chair out). Their apartment, like most of those in that particular building, was small, with two bedrooms. It was sparsely furnished, demonstrating in the subtlest possible way their poverty. The worst thing, however, was the cold, damp draughts. They were what caused Steve's coughs, already pitiful, to worsen.

Following a short period of loud rapping on the door, it was opened by Sarah Rogers, on one of her rare days off from the hospital. It took all of one look at her for Bucky to start worrying, a normal state of being for him in relation to the Rogers family. She looked awful. Pale, her long blonde hair rough and splitting jerked in sympathy as she stifled a cough with her thin hands. They were struggling with money again, Bucky could see, probably due to the cost of Steve's medicines; Sarah was wearing a patched blue dress which he knew had to be at least five years old. It had clearly been pulled in, she had been rapidly losing weight. Nonetheless the managed pleased expression. _She couldn't,_ he thought, but then again she did work on a TB ward. If the worse happened, what would happen to Steve? Bucky knew for a fact that they had no family in New York, perhaps none anywhere. She couldn't, there was no way. She'd just caught one of Steve's coughs, it wasn't exactly an uncommon occurrence in such a small apartment. And even if the worst did happen, Bucky would personally ensure Steve was ok. He'd never allow Steve to suffer. He couldn't.

'Bucky, how are you?' And your ma?' Sarah smiled, she had given her son that. 'Steve'll be here in a minute.' Stepping outside, she lowered her voice, the smile shrinking. 'I know you always are, but please be careful, he's still recovering. Still, do enjoy yourselves.'

'I'll make sure he's fine. Ya alright?'

'Well, it's just … Steve- be safe and don't get in any fights. Promise?'

'Promise. Hey Buck!'

'Hey Stevie! Lookin' a lot better!'

'Jerk!'

'Steve! Don't call him that!'

Bucky beamed at his best friend. Always optimistic, he liked that about Steve. And always there for him.

Looking at them from the outside, Bucky knew most people didn't understand why they were friends. Steve was quite the opposite of Bucky. He wore his heart on his sleeve. Blonde, where Bucky was brunette, small and skinny where he was broad and muscular, blue eyed, pale with being ill so often and usually bruised from defending people in fights he couldn't hope to win. Steve had a massive, enchanting smile; innocent, where Bucky's could be seductive. The one thing that scared Bucky about Steve, other than his health, was his attitude. An attitude not well matched to his stature. The attitude of a hero, always trying to defend the weak, even though most of the world saw him as one of the weak. Bucky knew better though, he knew that Steve was a hell of a lot stronger than he looked, his survival alone showed that. Bucky would never want Steve to get rid of his attitude, even though it dragged Bucky himself into fights to defend the little punk; without it he wouldn't be Stevie somehow. The attitude was what had made them friends in the first place. They'd been best friends since elementary school, when Bucky had stopped Steve getting his ass handed to him when fighting a bully. Stupid punks, both of them.

'Ya ready to go.'

'Sure, c'mon.'

'Y'all right.' They started down the stairs, Bucky catching Steve when he slipped a little, steadying him.

'Holdin' up. Can't wait for it to cool down. Today should still be swell though. Haven't seen ya since last week.'

'Ya ma wouldn't let me in. Not seein' ya wasn't for lack of tryin'. Hey Mrs Ellis! Hopefully won't be troublin' ya today!'

'Heard y'are goin' out with Mary McDonnell.'

'Went dancin' a coupla times. She ain't really my type. I called it off yesterday. She went a bit funny course, who wouldn't, knowin' they couldn't have me.'

'Don't know what she saw in ya, jerk!'

The two teenage boys had a small wrestling match, which Bucky let Steve win, before they carried on. They spent the rest of the journey talking about girls, school, plans for Coney Island, jobs, everything. Everything except Steve's health of course. And Steve's ma's.

By the time they reached their destination, it was early evening and a lot cooler already, and Steve's breathing, which had become a little ragged earlier, was calming. Bucky was so busy listening to his friend's breaths that he walked right into him when he stopped suddenly. Steve was staring at the Coney Island lights and the look on his face, the ecstatic happiness, made all the previous month's scrimping and saving worthwhile, and caused Bucky's heart to make a strange little jumping motion. He firmly told himself to ignore it, focusing instead on complaining to Steve about the price of tickets.

'They really expect most of New York to be able to afford it! Jesus! The economy is collapsing and they charge that! Anyway. So, which rides ya wanna go on?'

'I don't know. I ain't been here in a while.'

'How 'bout we finally brave the Cyclone, eh Stevie?'

'That's that one, right?'

'Yeah.' Steve's face fell as he watched the progress of the car on the rails of the rollercoaster in front of them. A small, whimpering noise escaped, unbidden, from his lips as all the colour drained from his cheeks. Pale as snow … beautiful, Bucky thought. No! _I ain't one of those guys!_

'I don' think that's such a swell idea Buck.'

'C'mon it'll be fun. And ya don' hafta go on it again if ya don't like it. It's a life experience!'

'No really.'

'Please, Stevie. It'll be fun. And I ain't been on it yet either. Been waitin' for ya.'

'Ok … I'll try it. But it I'm sick it's ya fault'.

'Sure. Ya won't be.'

Half an hour later, Bucky was eating his words whilst he patted the back of the now vomiting Steve. He'd been fine, until that drop, then the twist … well, maybe it hadn't been such a dilly of an idea after all. At least Steve seems to have … ok no.

Unfortunately for Steve, that was the point at which Dolores chose to walk past. She was in their year at school and an absolute stunner, no mistaking that. Despite that, Bucky wasn't particularly attracted to her, too brunette. Still, he was pretty sure Stevie liked her and equally sure of the fact that Dot liked Bucky. She waved, and made to come over, until she noticed Steve, who was still throwing up. Then, she turned her nose and walked off with her friend Connie, giggling. 'See ya 'round Buck!' Lovely, Bucky thought, absolute idiot, Steve was one of the best guys ever and she just walked off. Still … at least Steve had been too busy throwing up to notice, maybe there was still time to distract him before he noticed Dot and Connie's backs vanishing into the crowd.

'Tell 'ya what, Stevie, how 'bout we go home. Ya ma's gonna kill me.'

That drew a small smile. 'But jus''. Steve bent over and dry heaved. 'Jus' got'' Heave. 'Here. An' ya saved for a month.' The look of sadness and disappointment nearly melted his heart.

'Ya ain't well. Shouldn't have forced ya t'go on it.'

''S not ya fault. I 'greed and it was a nice idea. Sorry for getting' sick. Let's go.'

'You ain't got nothin' to apologise for.'

'Thanks, Buck. Got the money?'

'No. Ya had it?'

'Yeah, jus' 'fore got on the Cyclone.'

'Oh shit! Now ya got somethin' to apologise for, idiot.'

'Language! And ya shouldn'ta given it to me.'

 _Fair point_ thought Bucky. Stevie was his favourite person in the world, but he did have that one unfortunate habit of losing everything from his house key to his new jacket … to all their money. Still, they were both laughing now at least.

'How ya feelin' 'bout walkin', Stevie?' That cracked them up even more.

It took a hell of a lot longer to walk home, especially since Bucky had to carry Steve half the way when his lungs gave out. Bucky didn't mind though, he never begrudged doing anything for Steve.

By the time they stopped at the bottom of the stairs of Steve's building, night had fallen completely. Couldn't see the stars though, not in 1930s Brooklyn.

'Thanks, Buck.' Steve wheezed. 'Meetin' up 'gain was swell.'

'Sorry for makin' ya ill.'

'Sorry for losin' ya money. And I'm fine jerk. 've been worse. C'mere.'

Bucky hugged him close, breathing in the smell of soap and Steve. Something clicked then, even though hugging wasn't unusual, they were usually pretty touchy-feely. It was then that he realised that he'd been really worried about Steve during this last illness, practically camping outside the apartment, begging Sarah to allow him in, to be by Steve's side. It always relaxed them both. But Steve was ok, and here. And they were hugging. Bucky was so happy. Too happy. He quickly pushed Steve away, despite truly wanting to hold on tight. He knew what would happen if folk round here thought they were queer.

With a little (slightly disappointed, but that was probably Bucky's optimistic, overactive imagination) wave, Steve started climbing. Bucky started to walk home, worried by how much he had enjoyed the hug, worried about the way his heart had fluttered earlier, worried about how much he cared for and worried about his best friend. Worried especially about whether or not he'd been obvious, whether anyone had noticed him. Worried as to why his tastes had rapidly changed to blondes.

It took him less than a block to work everything out. The impossible fact, the one he'd been trying to avoid, was all that was left to him. He loved Steve Rogers as more than a friend. Always had. The punk who would be game for everything, the person he really wanted to spend time with him. The one person he couldn't have.

Stopping to lean against a wall, breathing harshly, he accepted the inevitable. In the cool darkness, the stink of the alley, he knew that he could never tell. Why'd he have to be queer? Why? Why couldn't he have been happy to have Steve just as a best friend? He'd have to be careful. If anyone suspected him, he'd be beaten (killed? That's what they did to queers round here) … and if he survived he would have to bear the look on Steve's face. The look of betrayal … disgust. No, he couldn't ever find out. Bucky had to protect him. There was a way, Bucky knew most girls fancied him… maybe he should talk to Dot after all, less suspicious that way.

Three days later Bucky was in his best suit walking hand in hand with Dot down the street outside Steve's building. He'd spent the day with Steve but was taking Dot dancing that evening. She was blushing and smiling shyly at him. Bucky was smiling back, trying to laugh at her jokes. Too busy acting to notice the look of complete and utter hurt and betrayal on the other face watching him. The skinny, pale face peering through a fourth floor window. Steve's. And by the time he looked up, the face had disappeared behind the curtain.

Bucky carried on walking with Dot.

 **I hope you enjoyed this! Please review- it really makes my day and helps!**

 **:)**


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